It's Yours
by BluePhyre
Summary: Not that long ago after the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy finds himself host to a visitor quite unexpected: Harry Potter. But what does the visit have in store? "Here, it's yours. It should be with its rightful owner."


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... or Draco Malfoy... Sadly.**

Well, I've been gone for a while. That's kinda sad... But I'm writing more on the side for the Harry Potter series, and here's one little scene I imagined in my mind. It's nothing much, but if one looks it at it with a critical eye... They might see different meanings behind the words. After all, "it's yours" isn't very specific, is it? ;D

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_Fire licked the back of the broom, nearly catching Potter and Malfoy as they rocketed out of the burning Room of Requirement. As soon as they were safe, Malfoy flopped off the broom to the ground, falling face first. He was vaguely aware as his arms unwound themselves from his enemy's waist, as his strange mixture of sobs and coughs filled the void of silence, as misery swept over the mixed group._

_He didn't notice the piteous looks he was getting more favorably over Goyle - since he was lying unconscious, rather than crying his heart out and all - and, for his dignity's sake, he never would. But he did know that, after tonight, things would be different._

_Draco had become quiet as Harry discussed with his friends the Fiendfyre that had nearly killed them, the diadem dying before them, and the absence of the she-weasel. Hoisting Goyle's arm over his shoulders, Malfoy stumbled away, wondering vaguely if he should tell the Dark Lord about the occurrences that he had witnessed. But, looking back on the scene in which Harry had saved Draco's life, despite their eternal rivalry, the blonde decided not to._

_He had done enough bad things._

That was the memory that had come back as Draco stood in one of the sitting rooms of his family estate - now run by him, seeing as his father was in Azkaban for life - staring at the Boy Who Lived. Or, now would it be the Man Who Lived? He wasn't quite sure, even if he _had_ followed the news of Hogwarts' Golden Boy ever since he had saved his life.

Which, really, in retrospect, wasn't that long ago.

Still, he was quite surprised when one of his house elves had announced that Mr. Potter was here to see him, and that he wouldn't take no for an answer, despite the attempts that had already been made. The blonde had been surprised, to say the least, that he would even lower himself to visit the Malfoy house again, and, in that light, decided his bravery would be rewarded.

And so, that explained why Harry Potter was standing awkwardly, the gazes of both Draco and his mother, who he had been having tea with just a moment ago, trained on his body. Well, mostly, anyway.

"Uh," Draco muttered, trying to remember the politeness he had been reared to possess. "Sit down, Mr. Potter. Would you like some tea?" That, the blonde thought to himself, had to be one of the most painful sentences he had ever had to say.

And Harry was laughing. Harry was _laughing_ at the pained expression that grew so easily over Draco's face as he had attempted to be nice to his mortal enemy in front of his mother. But he did as he was told, taking a seat on the couch beside Narcissa as Draco sat in the armchair that would otherwise have been taken by Lucius.

"Yes, thanks," Harry muttered, sending a toothy smile Draco's way - which he interpreted for a while, confused by the lack of smugness that usually would lurk beneath most of the smiles directed his way - before looking to the lady of the house.

"How do you take it?" she asked, her voice gracious as she reached towards the tea, milk, and sugar. At a murmuring, she put in two lumps of sugar, along with a dash of milk, before handing it to the guest. "It's quite nice to see you again, Mr. Potter. Thank you."

Draco wasn't sure what that had been for, but he assumed, as Harry sent a wary smile his mother's way, that he never would. There were many things his mother never did tell him, most of them being about the dark she had lived in for so long. He guessed it was something about that darkness, or the darkness being lifted, that Narcissa was thankful to Harry for. _Everyone_ was thankful to Harry for that, and it annoyed both the blonde and the brunet rather well.

"I didn't do much," Harry replied. "It's you that I should be thanking. Mrs. Malfoy." Draco looked away as the two continued their civil conversation. If this topic was meant to be secret, it would be better if I didn't _see_ them talking about it. Maybe then he would be less tempted by it to know.

But the image Draco remembered next was one that even _he_ had been frightened - no, terrified - to see. The great Harry Potter, sprawled out on the grass, supposedly dead, at Voldemort's feet. He had always told Potter that Voldemort would be the end of him, if not something more pathetic, but to see him just… dead… like that… It wasn't a ray of hope for anyone. At least, not anyone trapped in Azkaban. Not even if they were _supposed_ to be there.

"He's dead," Voldemort's joyful cry echoed throughout Draco's mind, and, with a hiss of pain that shocked both Narcissa and Harry into staring his way, utterly confused, the blonde stood, marching to the large, dark fireplace that was situated as the focal point for the grouping of chairs and couches. There, he pretended to gaze at the pictures on the mantel. None of them were too pleasant - one was his Aunt Bellatrix, shrieking and laughing maniacally, and another was of his rather decrepit, evil-looking grandfather, Abraxas, who he had been pointedly named after - but all the same, he was sure that Potter couldn't see, even with his glasses, all too well, and Narcissa saw through the display anyway…

Narcissa looked upon her son's distraught with a concerned look scrawled across her face. Her light, silvery eyes were glued not on Draco's face, which was twisting with a stinging pain, but on his left arm, which was gripped in his right hand as if it was on fire. She knew that look all too well. It had plagued Lucius whether the Dark Lord was defeated or not, and now it did the same to her son, drafted into the Death Eaters for the good of his family, against his will.

"Draco," she whispered softly, and Harry stopped staring at Draco's back, swapping his gaze for a look in Narcissa's direction as her face grew softer still to her son's distress. "Not again. It can't hurt again. He's gone… He's _dead_…"

"What are you talk about, Mother?" Draco asked, looking back on her, his eyes pleading her not to let their guest see that, even now, the Dark Lord was hurting them. "So, Potter, why are you here?"

Harry rolled his eyes and, reaching into his pocket, stood up. His tea cup had long been placed on the coffee table, its contents close to spilling over the rim. The brunet slowly made his way over to the blonde, simply holding out his hand and frowning slightly.

"Give me your arm, Malfoy," he murmured, and the blonde, not turning around, cast his gaze on the visitor. With a sneer, he shook his head and looked back to Abraxas, who was currently insulting Harry in a tongue neither of them could understand. "Do you _want_ to keep it? A souvenir, perhaps?"

"Stuff it," Draco snapped, but all the same, he had turned around and some point and was tugging up his left sleeve. For a moment, Harry paused. The Dark Mark was glaring up angrily at him, it seemed, and his scar was prickling slightly in protest. He had never seen the branding so close before, and it looked more sinister than he had remembered.

Gently, Harry grasped Malfoy's wrist, steadying his barely quavering arm. Then, he pulled out a wand - one of the three he had on his person - that did not look at all like his, and pressed its tip firmly against the pale underside of Draco's arm, where the snake met the skull.

"Deletrius," Harry murmured, and before their eyes the snake hissed, writhing in pain as it slithered off of Draco's arm and out of sight. The skull left behind let out a cackle that was distinctly Voldemort's, and, with a poof, disappeared as well. Draco gawked at his arm, which was now pale and utterly unmarred. The Dark Mark was gone.

"But… _How_?" he asked, and Narcissa stood to fid the result. As she noticed Draco's arm was bare, a gasp escaped her lips, and she flew immediately to Harry's side, draping an affectionate arm around him as she kissed both his cheeks.

"A miracle worker!" she cried, and Harry found himself to be blushing. "It must be the Elder Wand. Thank you, Mr. Potter. I believe the Malfoy name is ever indebted to you, as is the rest of the Wizarding World. Thank you."

"The Elder Wand," Harry replied, not realizing that he still hadn't released Draco's arm, "has been put to enough good use. I planned to retire it as soon as I had defeated Voldemort, but it has been proved useful since. It's nothing, really. I remembered Draco's disliking of the Mark, and now that Voldemort is through, there isn't a reason to wield it anymore…"

Draco blinked pointedly. "Out of all the bloody brilliant things you could do with that wand, you chose to pay me, your old archenemy, a visit and whitewash my arm of all my sins?" The blonde snorted and pulled away his arm, refusing to look the brunet in the eyes. "Bloody hero's complex. And I thought it was something more."

"Actually," Harry drawled with a chuckle that hid his surprise, "I cane to return your wand. Sorry for stealing it, but in the end that's what allowed me to defeat Voldemort… So thanks for your help, or something… Glad to see you're free…?"

"Glad to see you're alive, Potter," Malfoy replied. "My life would be too boring without someone to antagonize constantly."

"And my would be empty without someone to be my rival," Harry laughed. "Not everyone can keep up with the Chosen One, you know."

Draco smirked. "Well, I'm also a Chosen One, Potter," he chided, "if you haven't remembered correctly. The Chosen One of the dark side. And you… the light."

"One can't exist without the other," Harry offered, pulling the dark wand out of his pocket and placing it gently in the blonde's hand. "Here, it's yours. This should be with its rightful owner. Just don't curse me as I leave."

"I'll try not to."

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So, what do you think? It's a bit of a follow up to the first oneshot that I wrote for Harry Potter. Go check it out, alright? And review, of course! ;D May Merlin be with you.


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